


amplify

by rrosebudd



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Rival Relationship, Temporary Character Death, Training, VR training, Virtual Reality, the deaths aren't real so it's okay, violence but make it horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrosebudd/pseuds/rrosebudd
Summary: Rainbow Six operator and rookie Carina "Freyja" Stromberg is still getting used to the training grounds, and one particular enemy refuses to go easy on her. Caveira and Freyja scrap one-on-one, Cav breaking down her opponent until she confesses, Freyja fighting to hold out and win.
Relationships: Taina "Caveira" Pereira/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	amplify

**Author's Note:**

> quick rundown of Freyja: she's an attack operator, originally from the Swedish Special Forces, and her ability involves her headset, as it sharpens her hearing, and indicates the direction from which sound is coming. Caveira easily uses it against her.

Some sounds hurt. Her ears were sharp and accustomed to particularly loud ones, but sometimes, they got to her in other ways. 

Others were satisfying, like the crunch of barbed wire under her boots as she walked. The pop of a single bullet taking out a camera. The soft crackle of electrified defenses doing their job. All pleasant, and welcome to her ears. 

But some sounds hurt. An explosion too close sometimes made her ears ring, though she wasn’t bothered by volume. 

A loud sound didn’t hurt her nearly as much as, say, the sound of a serrated blade slicing across a throat, followed by a strangled yell, garbled with rising blood, and the thud of a corpse hitting the floor. 

All less than 10 meters to her left. That’s what hurt. 

Freyja’s eyes widened, and she retreated a couple steps back, crouched low to the floor and behind cover. “ _ Jävla- _ ” she swore under her breath as her heart rate picked up. Two to two. 

Her right hand went to cup the microphone hovering in front of her mouth. “Who went down,” she hissed, forcing her breath to remain steady. Her right hand curled around the grip of her assault rifle, and she shifted behind the desk by which she was ducked. 

There was an agonizing silence for a short moment as she waited, her listening keen as she could keep it, until the crackle of static from her headset brought her company in the solitude of the empty room. 

Maverick’s voice entered her ears. “Buck. The hallway to the east. Didn’t see who-”

“Fucking Caveira,” Buck grumbled from outside the simulation. He spoke up from the opposite side of Freyja’s headset, cutting off the other soldier’s words and effectively solving the potential mystery before she had to. “Came up behind me and stabbed me in the goddamn throat.” 

That didn’t put her much at ease, but before the living operator could respond, she was interrupted by a third voice from the group of deceased. 

“Maybe you’ll learn to watch your back, then,” came Sledge’s muffled chastising.

Buck scoffed. “Piss off.” 

“Quiet,” Freyja urged in a whisper. “You’re not helping.” 

A muttered apology came from the Canadian soldier, but there was quiet after that. She was given the opportunity to collect her composure, before beginning to move forward. 

She crept along the wall toward a doorway through which she could spot a reinforced wall. She raised her sights, just in case, though she didn’t hear anything out of place for the time being. 

Distant footsteps came from the north, giving her pause, but they were far enough as to not cause immediate alarm. 

She turned her head to speak into the mic again, softly. “Who’s left on Blue?”

“Just you and I,” Ash’s stern voice came through the speakers without hesitation, focused as ever. 

If Freyja had a free hand to drag down her face, she would have, but both were clutched to her AK5C Carbine with a white-knuckled grip. The sheer closeness of the match was making her head hurt. 

Ash spoke up again, “Heading onto Point A. I’ve got the defuser.” Freyja could hear shuffling as her teammate moved along the hall. “Keep an eye out for the roamer.” 

“Got it,” Freyja confirmed with a nod that Ash couldn’t hear. 

Her heartbeat from the pressure of being one of the last two operators standing threatened to pick up its pace, and while it pulsed in her ears with every quiet step forward, she focused elsewhere. She pressed on toward the doorway, rifle raised and at the ready. 

Eyes and ears peeled, she watched Point B with great intensity. The stillness was just as expected, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. 

She would be proven correct a second later by a dark flash of movement against its surroundings. Her breath hitched. 

The static-coated voice of her deceased teammate pierced through her headphones once more. Sledge spoke up, “Kapkan’s in-”

“I know,” Freyja whispered. She pressed forward, urgency in her steps.

She quickly strode toward the doorway and tucked herself out of sight. The long wall behind which she had taken cover wasn’t fortified like the others, that much she could see, and until she got what she was looking for, all she had to do was wait. 

Freyja slowly aimed the muzzle of her rifle toward the softwall. While closing her eyes might have helped her to focus, she couldn’t risk a moment of vulnerability even if it did. So she narrowed them instead, concentrating on the brittle wood in front of her, and she waited. 

It didn’t take long until her ears received the information they needed. The sound was soft, barely anything at all, but it was there. The defender on the other side of the wall shifted his position, and the slight shuffling of cloth armor against itself, along with half of a footfall on wooden ground, was all it took for the soldier’s fate to be sealed. 

In less than a second, Freyja’s gun was aimed to the left, directly at the source’s direction, and she fired. 

Her forefinger hugged the trigger of her rifle, and a deafening series of shots rang out, piercing the wood of the wall and embedding themselves into the man on the other side. Kapkan shouted in pain through a tight jaw, and the cry was followed shortly thereafter by a rewarding thud of a body hitting the ground. 

She let out the breath she’d been holding, and lowered her gun. Two to one. 

“Good work,” came Maverick’s approval, as Freyja pushed herself up to stand, gathering her composure. 

Freyja offered a silent nod of acknowledgment and gratitude that he’d likely see from his position as a spectator. She allowed herself a second to breathe, listening all the while, and she turned to head back into the hallway. Ash was likely on her way to the first point, so all Freyja had to do was assure the roamer didn’t get there. Simple. 

She slowly advanced through the room and back toward the hallway, keeping an ear out for the defuser in case it were to be placed, and she held her gun out in front of her at the ready, but without so much panic in her grip as there had been just a moment before. 

She spotted Buck’s body at the south end of the hall, the translucent symbol of a skull still visible above the corpse, and she could only hope she wouldn’t end up with a similar fate. She paused in her steps. 

A stillness hung in the air that she hadn’t noticed until just then, and as she stopped walking and finally took stock of the complete silence, her stomach churned. 

She turned around, surveying the opposite doorway once more, her expression severe. Something was out of place, but she couldn’t hear what it might have been. 

“Ash?” She spoke low into the headset. She took a step forward, her vision trained ahead of her. “Have y-?”

“ _ Olá _ ,” came a voice from right behind her ear. Freyja’s words caught in her throat. 

A tough hand clutched her shoulder and tugged, hard, spinning her on her heel to face her assailant. Her own hands reacted before her brain could, and she immediately had a vice-like grip on the trigger of her rifle, firing on pure instinct.

But the enemy reacted before even that, as their grasp left Freyja’s shoulder and grabbed the gun’s muzzle, shoving it instead toward the ground and letting the bullets pierce the floor in rapid succession, two of which happened to dig themselves into the instep of the victim’s foot. 

Freyja gasped in a lungful of dry air as she felt the gunshots hit just below her ankle. She was caught staring down at the blood pooling from the sole of her boot, and in her distraction, her AK5C was ripped entirely from her hands. It was tossed to the side with an unceremonious clatter to the wooden floor. 

Each motion was a blur, and she wasn’t given a mere moment to process or retaliate, as her attacker drove an elbow into her sternum and shoved her. Freyja was sent staggering backward, pain shooting up her leg as she stumbled over her feet, and her back smacked against the wall of the corridor. 

She attempted to peel herself off the wall, but couldn’t grasp the opportunity, as she was suddenly pinned by the enemy’s forearm pressing to the base of her neck, impairing her breathing a slight amount, though she was sure she could be suffocated in a second if her opposition truly desired. 

It was only then that she could catch her breath. She panted, eyes wide, as her assailant held her face to face, leaning in so their noses were inches apart, if only to study the prey caught in their trap. 

Freyja found herself staring into a pair of dark eyes deep set in a face covered in black and white war paint resembling a human skull. While no smile was present on Caveira’s lips, her eyes gleamed with a different story. 

“It’s cute, almost,” her accent was faint as she began to speak, studying Freyja’s still shell-shocked face with an almost inaudible chuckle, “how much you rely on your ability to hear.”

She shook her head, a glint of mock disappointment behind her narrowed eyes. Freyja tried to push back on her arm, but she held fast, keeping her immobile against the wall. She chided softly, “and yet you still miss what is right in front of you.” 

Caveira took her free hand and swiftly plucked the Förstarka Tactical Headset from Freyja’s ears, examining the earphones for a moment with a click of her tongue, before tossing them down the hall. The device hit the ground and skidded away.

Freyja felt her face grow hot and something inside her chest began to seethe. She tore her light gaze away from Caveira’s piercing dark one, and decided not to let her continue her little speech. 

She thrust her knee upward with sudden force, effectively striking Caveira just below her ribs. She heard the defender struggle to inhale from the impact on her solar plexus, and felt her grip ease up. The opportunity to push back was at last given to her, and she took it, shoving at Caveira’s chest and throwing her away from the wall. 

Freyja shot her leg out for good measure, grunting through grit teeth, and caught her opponent square in the stomach with her heel. Caveira was sent careening to the ground with a frustrated shout, her back hitting the floor, and the fall gave Freyja just the amount of space that she needed. 

Her head whipped around, searching wildly for the gun that had been discarded. The headset, she could worry about later. She spotted the weapon over in the corner, and breathed a sigh of relief through a small victorious smile. 

Her concentration on anything but the obtainment of her weapon was severely lacking, especially without the help of her headphones to ground her auditory senses, and as she began to dart over to the corner, she didn’t notice the silent unsheathing of a serrated blade. 

She did, however, notice how it felt. Before she could even take a full step forward, she felt the metal teeth of a large knife slice into the back of her ankle, biting into her Achilles’ tendon and sending white-hot pain up her leg once more. 

A strangled cry was torn from her throat as the blade was retracted, and she could no longer support her own weight. Freyja staggered forward and lost her footing. She all but collapsed forward to the ground, and while her reaction time was fast, it wasn’t quite fast enough. She failed to catch herself on her hands, instead clacking her forehead and nose against the wood. 

A crunch sounded just beneath the skin of her face, she was sure of it, and she shut her eyes tight to avoid seeing the spots and stars that threatened to dance across her vision. She groaned low from the throbbing ache from inside her skull. 

Try as she might to pry herself back up onto her knees, she struggled to so much as get her elbows underneath her chest, and in her long instance of recollecting her bearings, she felt a sudden weight drop onto her lower back. Her vision snapped ahead of her. 

Caveira sat squarely just above Freyja’s hips, her legs straddled on either side of her waist, trapping the girl beneath her and preventing any movement save for some futile squirming in attempt to escape. Freyja bucked her hips back to throw her off, but her opponent held fast. 

She didn’t dare look behind her as she fought for her freedom, but in her feeble thrashing, Freyja felt a hand wrap deftly around one of the braided pigtails that sat on her shoulder. She didn’t have the time to react before one of her braids was yanked downward, and her chin snapped up. Something in her neck popped, and a razor-sharp ache shot through her scalp from the iron grip Caveira held on her hair. 

Her breathing was shallow and pained as her gaze was forced toward the sky. But it wasn’t until her eyes focused on that of her attacker staring down at her, that she also became aware of the cold metal pressed to her neck. 

Caveira leaned forward, her right hand keeping the bloodied end of the serrated knife held up against Freyja’s throat.

“Let’s not play this game,  _ querida _ ,” the woman atop her growled deep in her ear. Freyja shivered. She swallowed, and felt the knife shift against her windpipe. 

She attempted to steady her breathing and  —  somehow through the panicked and frustrated fog in her head — find a way out. But at the moment, there wasn’t one, and only fury clouded the forefront of her mind. 

Her inability to move only fanned the fire in her chest. She bucked again, to no avail. “Get the fuck off of-”

She was interrupted by the knife slipping away from her throat, giving her a chance to catch her breath, but only for a millisecond, as her shoulder was grabbed and pulled back. Caveira almost effortlessly flipped her foe onto her back, lifting her weight off of Freyja for the short time it took to reposition her, only to drop back on top of her, her thighs framing instead the front of her pelvis, and pressing her to the ground once more. 

Freyja was jostled onto her back, the base of her skull clacking audibly against the hardwood, and she processed too late that the blade had returned to her skin. The very tip of the knife poked the underside of her chin, and the same dark pair of unamused eyes stared down at her. 

Caveira pursed her lips and leaned back to take in the sight of the woman trapped beneath her weight. She slowly twisted the knife, and could see Freyja wince as it scraped against the first layers of skin along her neck, slight traces of red appearing in its wake.

“I understand you are new here, but you should know how this goes,” her voice was deep, and impatient. Freyja struggled again, but was given no room to do so at all. “Tell me what I need to know, and this will be much easier for both of us.” 

Freyja’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, her eyes narrowed at the skull staring down at her. “You’ll have to kill me,” she snarled through clenched teeth. 

In the dark pits beneath Caveira’s brow, Freyja could see eyes roll, rife with exasperation, but a small smirk appeared on the woman’s lips. She shook her head with a scoff. 

“I will,” she answered simply, as she took the knife away from her victim’s throat, and instead, plunged it into the space just about Freyja’s collarbone. 

Her shriek came through a clenched jaw, and she threw her head back. It hit the wooden floor with a crack, only adding to the pain pulsing through her upper body, as the blade burned deep in the skin of her shoulder, and the warmth of blood began to spread along her neck. 

Freyja’s eyes screwed shut, if only to block out the pain, along with the dark eyes staring her down and drinking in her reaction. She flickered them back open, just to see the visage of sick amusement that belonged to the assailant atop her, and the ferocity in her chest shot back up, the flame there suddenly doused in gasoline.

She gave another cry, but one of great exertion instead of agony, as she bucked her bottom half up again, this time throwing all her force into her legs to slam her knees into Caveira’s back. 

The fist around the knife’s hilt let go, the blade still embedded in Freyja’s shoulder, as the wielder fell forward with a grunt, nearly headbutting the woman beneath her in attempting to catch herself on the floor. Without so much as a second to take the knife from its site, Freyja shoved Cav over by her shoulders, throwing her to the side and onto the ground. 

The defender fell onto her back, and Freyja scrambled to stand. Blood pouring from her left collarbone, she pulled herself to unsteady feet, and ran. 

Her steps were shaking and erratic, each one nearly ending in her collapse, but Freyja bolted down the hall, toward her gun and her potential freedom, never once looking behind her to the operator that was regaining her own balance, and reaching for her own weapon. 

She had barely reached the doorway, let alone her equipment, when the shots rang out behind her. The pain exploded in her calf first, as a bullet ripped open the back of her leg, and then her right shoulder, knocking the wind from her lungs and stealing her balance. 

Freyja cried out, and hit her knees. She slumped forward with her gaze to the sky, agony on her face as she buckled from the sudden shock.

Her ears felt numb and her clothes were heavy with blood as she sank to the ground, her chest heaving with the same rhythm with which Caveira was approaching her from behind. She couldn’t bear to look behind her; she wasn’t so sure she could do so without hurting herself further, given the blade still jammed tight into her skin.

But she didn’t need to, it seemed. Just a moment later, she felt a hand lay softly on her shoulder, one slender finger at a time. Freyja shivered, her skin going cold, potentially from the blood loss. 

“I know you did not mean to make me ask twice,” came the low Brazillian accent behind her. Freyja could feel hot breath on her ear as the defender leaned down, and the grip on her shoulder tightened. “Right?”

She winced, biting back a sob, but kept her vision trained on the empty wall riddled with bullet holes up ahead of her. A confession would end the pain, she knew, and the thought almost broke her. Her teeth were clenched so tight her jaw ached, praying her mouth would stay shut long enough for Ash to win the round for them. 

The silence between the enemies, however, seemed to be too long for Caveira’s liking. Freyja was lost in thought, concentrating on the wall in hopes of shutting down her senses, when she was snapped back to reality by the hilt of that same damned knife. 

With little hesitation and blinding speed, Caveira gripped the knife’s handle and tugged, ripping it out of Freyja’s collarbone, a crack sounding as the blade made its way out. 

She screamed at that, admittedly. The blood that had been staunched by the weapon now began to openly pour down her chest. She took in a creaking breath through her tight jaw, a distinct cold beginning to set into the tips of her fingers. 

From behind her ear came a sigh, though out of mocking, disappointment, or pity, Freyja couldn’t tell. Probably all three. 

Caveira brought the serrated edge of her knife to rest lazily against Freyja’s windpipe from behind. “Where,” she began, her question almost a threat, “is the last one of you?”

“Point A,” Freyja choked out, almost before the sentence was finished. “It’s Ash, in the hallway north of Point A, with the defuser.” 

The grip on her shoulder softened, though the blade at her neck didn’t retract, instead remaining steady. She could hear Caveira let out a breath. 

“There’s a good girl,” came her voice, condescension thick and triumph ever present. “I do apologize for this next part.” 

Freyja didn’t need to ask what that meant, and she wouldn’t get the chance to even if she so desired. 

The motion was quick; Caveira apparently wasn’t about to let her counterpart suffer for much longer, which would be the only kindness she exhibited during the whole altercation. 

The blade pressed into the trachea, and sliced. Blood spurted, Freyja cried out, but as soon as she made sound, she woke up. 

She gasped as she awoke to reality. The headphones strapped to her ears muffled the conversation around her, and her chest heaved with large breaths as she stared at the screen ahead of her, her face hot and burning as the blood rushed to her head. Her hands went to her throat on instinct, but it was the same every time; no wounds, no blood, just the tingling of phantom pain of having her throat slit. 

A hand went to her shoulder again, and she jumped. But it was larger and more gentle.

“You get used to it,” Buck’s gruff but comforting voice came from next to her. 

Freyja looked to him, pressing a grateful smile to her face as her hands dropped. “Thanks,” she nodded. 

Taking off her headset and standing from her chair, Freyja snuck a glance at the screen again. The view from the defensive cameras was displayed with grainy black and white footage, and the soldiers outside the simulation were watching those within. 

On Point A was Ash, as promised, the defuser planted at her feet and her R4-C steady in her grip. Another angle showed Caveira making her silent way down the hall. Freyja didn’t really want to watch the end of the round. 

She instead looked over to the opposite side of the room, where the orange team sat, only one operator left in the game. Caveira’s headset was covering her face. She was tense. Freyja looked away.

She noticed the presence of her teammate still behind her, and she glimpsed back to Buck, uncertainty on her face. “I’m… sorry I didn’t hold out for longer,” she spoke up, mostly to him, but to whichever other friendly operator was listening, if only to diffuse her guilt somewhat.

Buck frowned. He shook his head, his messy brow creased a little as he turned to her. “Don’t sweat,” he assured. “I’ve seen men crack much faster.” 

He exhaled and looked back to the screen, and Freyja followed suit, though she didn’t pay too much attention. Gunshots from a silenced pistol sounded from the speakers, and Ash went down. The announcement sounded that orange had orange, as their enemies had been eliminated. 

Buck sighed again. “Cav’s a tough one.” He nodded, and clapped Freyja on the back, jostling the small girl a tad. “You did good.”

She gave him another smile, as he turned to go. There was scattered applause as the training session came to an end. Both Ash and Caveira disengaged from their screens, and met each other in the middle of the room to shake hands. Freyja clapped as well, if reluctantly, and she turned to go grab her belongings. She bent down, slinging her bag over her shoulder, before spinning on her heel to leave and head home. 

She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a familiar face. With a tiny shout of surprise, Freyja jumped back as Caveira suddenly appeared in her way. 

“Hey,” said Caveira, expression classically monotonous.

Freyja blinked, clutching to the strap of her bag. “Hi.” 

The defensive operator’s dark eyes swept over the figure of her opponent, and Freyja saw that same lopsided smirk reappear. “This was fun,” Caveira commented.

Freyja didn’t have a response to that, as it was most certainly not her idea of fun. But her cheeks were still warm, for some reason. 

“Let’s do it again sometime, hm?” Caveira’s brow raised, and she winked. 

She coughed through her teeth, brow furrowed and her face taken aback. Caveira wasn’t interested in a reply, it seemed, as she merely shouldered past her rival. She flicked one of Freyja’s pigtails on her way past. 

Freyja’s hand went to her hair, and she pouted, nose scrunched, as she didn’t appreciate the invasion of personal space. Her face grew hot again, and she found herself watching Caveira as she headed out the door. 

She waited a moment, so that the two would not cross paths again when she decided to leave. Freyja left, only after standing around, watching her other fellow soldiers depart. And all the while, she couldn’t take her mind off the match, her opponent in particular, for a reason she couldn’t quite understand. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first r6 fic and I only wrote it bc i'm horny for Caveira and wish she would interrogate Me. hope you enjoyed mwah


End file.
